


Making it Quite Clear

by afractionof



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Not explicit but chats about sex and related topics, Rating mostly for 'Just In Case' factor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afractionof/pseuds/afractionof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes we all get a little insecure and, yeah, you know he means well in some way, but there’s a continental divide, a few states and an ocean between ‘love’ and ‘let’s fuck’ and you know which side you’re on. He just needs a little reminding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making it Quite Clear

You’re not usually one for facial hair rubbing all up against your skin but you think you might be able to get used to this. The scruff he’s got is trim, neat and soft, and you know for a fact he takes good care of it because you just watched him do a full lather-rinse-repeat on it in the shower. It’s that salt and pepper kind of deal, something he keeps around because when he shaves it off he thinks he looks to ‘young’, not dignified or some other horse shit. And that’s exactly what it is too—horse shit—because Jacob Harley could prance around in a potato sack and still be the classiest guy you’ve ever met.

Sexy, too.

“I’m of a mind to think that you’re woolgathering, Mr. Strider.”

“That so,” you mumble, smiling when his chin rubs against your collar bone as he nods.

“Quite so.”

“Might be right,” you tell him. “You gonna do somethin’ ‘bout it?”

“I may have to.”

You already know his smile is warm, it’s never anything but warm, but his hands are also pretty warm and they always do a good job of distracting you so you don’t dwell on it too much.

You think just this once you can be forgiven. The man does have some bitchin’ hands, after all, rough and callused, with long fingers and broad palms, the kind of hands you know can handle you just as well as that rifle he’s always toting around some leafy jungle.

His sigh is warm against your neck and your leg jumps when his fingers curl around your hip.

“You’re very distracted.”

“Sorry.”

His weight lifts off you and you frown, reaching to pull him back down but he shakes his head. He’s got that concerned look, the one that pinches the corners of his lips and makes the lines around his eyes that much more noticeable. He’s worried and it bugs you but you’ll wait, let him chew his lip until he spits out whatever’s on his mind because that’s how it works—he chews it over and you wait and don’t jump to any stupid conclusions.

“Is something wrong?”

“Wasn’t until you moved.”

“You’re rather deep in thought, aren’t you?”

“Man can’t think?”

His lips purse again and he frowns down at you. “Dirk, you know quite well that’s not at all what I meant in the slightest…”

You know, but you also know he’s not done.

“Are you… well, I say.” He sighs, knees shifting between yours. “Are you not in the mood?”

Your eyebrows lift and your head tips and—“The fuck?”

“Are you not in the mood,” he repeats. His face is warm, the only indication the way he glances around and his fingers twitch beside you, like he wants to tug at the collar of the shirt you’d just spent the last few hours trying to get him out of.

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Why’d y’think that?”

“You’re not being very responsive.”

Glancing down, you gesture toward the bulge pulling at the material of your boxers. “Know I ain’t bustin’ the seams or nothin’ but pretty sure you can tell that’s my dick and it’s interested.”

“Strider—Dirk!”

“What? I’m just sayin’ because you’re askin’.”

“Is it really quite necessary to put it so… crassly?”

“When you’re askin’ stupid questions, yeah?”

“It wasn’t a stupid question.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“It was most certainly not.”

“It were too most certainly.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“It was.”

“Well,” he huffs, moving back to sit on his heels. “Pardon me for wanting to make sure that my partner is still enjoying my affections or worrying that, perhaps, I was being a bit more than a little forward with my advances this afternoon!”

You blink, sitting up quickly to grasp his wrist. “Hey, wait a—“

“I was under the impression that manners were still ‘the thing’ though it appears I was quite mistaken.”

“Jacob—“

“I know I’m not as young as I once was and, really, it’s quite amazing you’ve even put up with such an old goat this long. I suppose it’s really just a matter of time before I’m moving to the winter coop but you seemed to be consistently enjoying your nights with me and—“

“God damn, can you shut it?”

His mouth drops open then snaps shut and you think you can see a hint of red at the edges of his ears but you ignore it because does he really think that?

“You think I’m getting’ tired of you ‘cause you’re old?”

“It’s not that strange.”

Actually, yeah, it is and you tell him so. “What part of ‘been in love with you for years’ did you miss? Know I ain’t the brightest color in the box but thought I was makin’ it pretty obvious that the ‘love’ part in there was pretty damn important.”

“I’m not doubting that you love me, I’m just wondering if—“

“The sex isn’t good enough?”

There’s definitely some red on his ears but he nods and you sigh, reaching up to hook a hand behind his neck.

His chest has got that same salt and pepper hair scattered over it, light and spread out pretty nicely, and you love it. It’s softer than the stuff on his face and you press your forehead against his collar, sighing.

“That ain’t somethin’ you should be worryin’ ‘bout,” you mumble, reaching out to find his hand. You miss the first couple times but eventually you get it and you lace your fingers together to squeeze his hand. “Long as it’s you.”

“I wouldn’t hold it against you…”

You laugh because he sounds so sincere and you know he is. It’s sweet in one way and annoying in the next but endearing in both. He gives a shit, way more than he should. “Tryin’ t’get you t’hold it against me but, god damn, all this worryin’ ‘bout shit, gonna have to get you all worked up all over again.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“No.” Looking up you shake your head. “Don’t even start that crap.”

“Why not? Sometimes—“

“I know, alright? I know you ain’t just gonna get it up every time I shake my ass at you.” His eyes widen and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand and you touch his cheek. “I’m over here.”

“I know quite well where you are.”

“So, how ‘bout y’look at me.”

It takes him a moment but he does, eyes down on your lap and you rock your hips, trying to lighten the mood a little. You’re not all that sure it works, but his eyes dart up to your face and you shake your head, smiling in that way you know is way too soft and you kind of hate it but you love it too because his shoulders drop some of that tension they’ve been holding and he gets that relieved look. It’s equal parts sheepish and comforted and you’re a sucker for that look.

“I love you— _you_ , not your dick, though I ain’t gonna deny I love that too, whether it takes a little effort sometimes or not, you know?”

He’s silent for a moment but that’s fine with you. He doesn’t need to say anything and when you settle back, getting comfortable against the mattress again, he follows, pressing his hips flush with yours and slipping an arm under the small of your back.

“Yes, well… I love you too.”

“And my dick?”

“Dirk, really…”

“Really.”

He doesn’t dignify your question with an answer—a verbal one, at least—but it’s all the same to you.

You know a ‘yes’ when you see one. Or feel one.  


End file.
